Top 10 Missing Apps on the iPhone

1. An app that generates an additional 2 days for every standard weekend.

2. An app to automatically whisk away songs stuck in your head for more than 3 days, like certain tunes from The Sound of Music, anything from Hall and Oats, and that song that starts out with “Heard it from a friend, who heard it from a frii-eeend who, heard it from another you’ve been messin’ around…”

3. An app connecting my phone to Bono’s. Come on, just give me 5 minutes…okay, 2 tops.

4. An app to turn spammers and computer virus developers into 3 legged spiders with herpes.

5. An app that would immediately let me know exactly how bad it is when Husband starts out a sentence with “Now don’t freak out, but…”

6. An app that is so cool that it is too cool to be called an “app.” I’m so over that word.

7. Obviously, an app to help me predict the future. Why haven’t they thought of this yet?

8. An app that can sense whether a soup of any kind was really made with chicken stock. I’ve got to be careful, okay.

9. Of course, an app to detect whether the person I’m talking to is actually listening, or doing 4-9 other things simultaneously.

10. And finally, an app to tell me the name and location of that Anonymous poster from a while back. Hell no, I’m not still thinking about that. What kind of dweller do you think I am?

What did I miss here?  By the way, I don't even have an iPhone, but feel like I do with the market share of commercials consumed by Apple. For all I know, these could be existing apps.

It's a Wrap

This Christmas was truly one of the most restful I remember. I left work on Wednesday at 3 pm and was able to completely put it out of my mind for the first time in a while.

I always have a weird sense of angst about presents with the Husb, since he’s getting pickier with age. But this year we gave ourselves the gift of a new bedroom floor instead of doing a traditional exchangeroo. It’s made from recycled materials and looks like wood. We love it. Dog loves it. Her nails make a sophisticated clicking sound as she trots across it in irregular patterns while tossing her new plush sheep and orange monkey toys to herself.

D-man is content with a new iPod nano and cell phone. Although…his thumbs are most likely in need of being Baker Acted at this point. On the way to my parents’ house on the east coast of Florida, he passed on a much needed trip to the toilet because he feared a text might come in that he wouldn’t be able to answer in seconds. I’m trying to go with the flow here. You know, be a good, cool mom. But sweet Jesus, that scares the daylights out of me.

So the pride and joy of many folks’ holiday revolves around the kitchen—that grandiose meal to emerge from hours of peeling, boiling, baking, concocting…whatever people do in that room of the house. Since I’m a self-proclaimed (and family-proclaimed) domestically disabled person, I don’t know much about the kitchen. But I will say that Husb prepared a most delightful Tofurkey dinner for me…mmmmm, so appealing…that I dined on while they consumed their pukey animal protein.

It was amazing. Quite unsurprisingly, I had the whole thing all to myself. You can see how difficult it must have been for them to pass on this Soy Wonder. They were lusting after it for sure.

Now one thing is for sure about Flanders. That dog loves, as in LOVES, a present to open. Doesn’t matter what it was. She literally anticipates each second counting down to the unwrapping, just like a kid. Here’s a “before” shot that sufficiently captures her smug confidence at what was to come:

Here’s a “during” shot:

And after she opened her three presents, plus tearing into Husb’s mother’s electric can opener, plus shredding wrapping from each one into minute pieces, here’s an “after” shot:

Ahhh, doesn’t that just make you want to curl up? My sweet street dog of 10.5 years calls it a wrap after being treated to some goodness for all of her selfless love.

Some People Never Learn...

That would be me. I haven't shared on Gropius in more than a few days because my dear, sweet, loving, wonderful PC has once again been infected with a skanky virus. It's in the PC doctor's office now and I hope to get it back soon so that I can share a few funnies with you from over the Christmas break.  Some priceless moments include a photo of Husband holding up the less-than-appealing Tofurkey he prepared for me on Christmas, some texting tales from D-Man's new life as a 13 year old cell phone owner, etc.

Hoping you all have had many holiday delights!  You deserve the treasure of relaxation and joy this time of year and throughout the coming months.

Let me repeat: those who are responsible for computer viruses are destined to be fleas on roaches' backsides in future life times.

One day I will learn and get a Mac. Hope to see you tomorrow with a healthy computer.

The Space for Possibilities

This year, I’ve experienced more than my share of death, with three people dear to me having passed on to their next journey. It’s a reality of life, yet I often get too caught up in the minutia of things to take stock of what is real and lasting and what is a mere bump on a side road I will never see again.
Thanks to Cynthia at Running with Letters for this quotable quote in her post, taken from a column she wrote about the holidays in 2004:

“Being still means keeping space open for possibilities.

It means leaving room for moments of wonder.

It means not running the risk of being “too full” to assist in a miracle.”

I’m taking the time over the rest of this week and next to make a plan for possibilities. For my space has become a cluttered collection of time spent on too many projects to make a real difference in any of them. My plan must include space to be less rushed but more deliberate, less worried but more thoughtful in entertaining the endless goings-on in my mind, less influenced but more able to listen with both ears.

This photo was taken on an 11 mile hike through the Myakka Forest a few years back. Talk about possibilities.  On a long road ahead shared with no building of any kind, we walked through several habitats, encountered a shed Indigo snake skin and tracks of all kinds, met no one on the trail and could enjoy silence except for the birdy chatter around us.

Christmas is a time for reflection, gratitude and love, right? We yearn for that one day when nothing is expected of us but togetherness. But it wasn’t meant to be singular in its celebration. If I know the meaning, I hope to make it an every day sort of thing. I’ve particularly enjoyed Julia’s Thank You Project, finding something short and sweet to be thankful for in every day. Short and sweet but meaningful. It's often the shortest proclamations and reflections that have the most meaning, as any great writer (not me!) could tell you. What a lovely inspiration.

Wishes for a Merry Christmas to you and everyone in your life. Thanks for reading.

Creative Christmas

Let me say, reading your blogs has left me amazed at all of the creativity out there centered on Christmas and other things. Your stuff for sale on Etsy, for one. I’m probably the last to hear about it, but now that I have, I’m in love with it. What a extraordinary place to support small business and people who are making beautiful art, jewelry, vases and more out of their homes—stuff you couldn’t find in a store if you had to. Very cool.

We don’t talk too much about Christmas at work, since about a quarter of our staff (who are very awesome people, by the way) don’t celebrate holidays. So yesterday, there was the coolest staff appreciation party, and part of the deal was a “white elephant” gift exchange—you know, one of those “choose a gift and steal someone else’s if you don’t like yours?”

We all brought an unwanted item from our home that would theoretically have some appeal for others, wrapped it in non-holiday paper and each chose a numbered ticket. Although the first numbers had a better pick of the anonymously wrapped gifts on the table, the latter numbers had a better choice in terms of hijacking opened gifts. It was funny and festive. And a nice way to say “Hey, the economy sucks. Re-use something from your house. It will be funnier, better for the environment, and you won’t have to buy anything.”

Candle holders galore, a few books that no one wanted, frequently stolen bottles of wine, a UF Gators baseball hat, a Kleenex holder, and a shoebox of treasures from a desk drawer were among the re-gifted items.

So check out this Christmas tree. It is made entirely from found materials around the home and is a creation of a local artist who’s married to one of Husband’s co-workers. How’s this for creativity? It’s even cute. Wish I had a better picture.

We bought a live tree this year instead of Old Petroleum, our fake Frasier Fir. I’m thinking of some better ideas for disposal than the curb when it’s time for her to go. (After all, 3 years ago my freaking car was wrecked when a dump truck shed a Christmas tree in the road. Because there were people in all 3 lanes of traffic, and the tree appeared before me like a blazing comet, I had no choice but to hit it.)

Before I sign off for today, thanks for all of your meaningful thoughts on the post below. The comments are worth a read if you have the time. Enjoy your day and happy blogging.

What's Happened to American Dialogue?

Now Gropius has always been a place for everyone—short and fat (and gaining like me from all of the junk food at work), tall and thin, black and white, liberal and conservative, etc. Especially that last one. I’ve pretty much had it up to my eyeballs with people who have different political views and can’t still get along. What the hell? We’re all people, right?

One of my favorite people at work couldn’t be more different than me when it comes to politics, but I love to talk to him because we challenge each other’s beliefs. We'e both very educated about the issues on which we share dialogue. And although we’ll never convince the other to change, we respect one another and in the end, it’s really just about two people having a passionate conversation. And true to form with Gropius, even if you respectfully disagree with my opinion, your comment is very welcome. I truly appreciate different points of view.

So here’s our new Gropius friend. Someone who just left a comment (on the wrong entry I might add) to a statement I made here:

“Here's the infamous border fence, keeping our America safe from pot, people and...hmmm....wait? What's it for?"

It’s true, some patrolling of our border may be necessary for many reasons, but the fence? I do happen to find it just atrocious. Maybe you feel differently. That’s fine. Isn’t that why we can live in this place called America? If you find yourself hating people who have different political views, I think the problem is yours, my friend.

Here’s what our friend said about my comment above in red:
After all, only marijuana gets smuggled across the Border. Not heroin, cocaine, weapons and terrorists. It is only pot. RIGHT. Wow, you really are ignorant.

To many uneducated liberals, the Border Fence may just be that.

I'm sure you think that most illegal aliens are just coming over to work and find a better life. Unfortunatley, a majority of them have backgrounds that include rape, murder, drug smuggling, and numerous other felonies. But I'm sure that doesnt matter to a left wing douche like you.

Let's just open the country to them. After all, they aren't coming to your neighborhood, are they? The luxury that you have is that you don't really know what happens in these Border towns and you can cry and bitch all you want, but the fact remains that if the Border Patrol wasn't around, your life as you know it would not exist.


Like I said, different opinions are important to me. They help all of us to continue re-thinking and evaluating our stances and enable us to find new solutions. But honestly, Anonymous, if you’re that intelligent, maybe you could discuss the issue intelligently.  You made quite a few assumptions about what I know and don't know. How presumptuous of you. 

“You really know what happens in these border towns?”  Clearly you would be surprised to know all of the research I have done on the issue and having just come from a border town, I've seen a few things for myself.  We just feel a little differently about this. And one of us knows a little more about having an adult conversation. "Douche?"   That's so 80's.

Here's the point:

Isn’t it sad that Anonymous and so many other Americans are losing the ability to talk to one another humanely when they disagree? I was just chatting up this topic with a fellow blogger before Anonymous delighted my morning by proving a point.

My 13 YEAR OLD is more educated in having conversations. If Anonymous was really feeling smart about his comment and conduct, he would have included his name.

One of the biggest opportunities we have here in today's devisive American climate is to be friendly with and/or respectful of those who feel differently about the big issues. It will only benefit you and the country as a whole.  Comments on either side welcome. As long as you're decent.

Canyons, Babies and Fences

It's been a few. One day I will learn and just get a Mac, but in the meantime I am suffering the old fashioned way--with computer viruses. (And human viruses from travel...er um, I have completely lost my voice.) Thank goodness dear IT man was able to clear the nasty infection from its new life on my PC without me losing anything.  So at long last, here are some pics as I blog in voiceless silence at 2:30 a.m. (courtesy of Flanders' wee morning pee run).

The Texas babe was a treasure. Just beginning to smile, every now and then she would flash a quick one for us. She loves her hands and is very expressive using them in dramatic poses on her face as she sleeps.

Bro took me out on Lake Amistad, an enormous 66,000 acre, duck-filled wonder, produced from daming the Rio Grande River.  Coots, green winged teal, white pelicans (9 foot wing span), an American wood cock, and my personal fave--the dramatic-in-red scarlet tanager--were seen in various spots along our journey. We stopped the boat to get out and walk and found a charming dry creek bed filled with deer tracks, cacti and sounds from birdies we don't have in this part of the states.  More photos are on the Flickr stream (see right), but here are a few to give you a taste:

Now the terrain in and around Del Rio was pretty freaking crispy. Not too much vegetation with a dull grayish-brown pervading the color wheel on all sides. But there were treasures in the morning fog and in small things that maintain a beauty of their own:

Sis-in-law, baby and I went on a 45 minute drive to the canyons near the intersection of the Pecos and Rio Grande Rivers. Here I spoke with a sweet local fisherman, met my first ever canyon wren and heard goats calling from a cave within the canyon where, apparently, they stay during the night to avoid a grim fate induced by mountain lion capture.

Here's the infamous border fence, keeping our America safe from pot, people and...hmmm....wait? What's it for?  It was quite different than I imagined. This was taken near a station just outside of Del Rio.

And to end on a high note, Del Rio and surrounding area have fabulous sunsets. A special thank you to my family hosts. They were the best and I miss them already.

A Few Things I've Learned About Del Rio

So tomorrow I'm headed back home to Sarasota/ Bradentucky, and I've gained a few things on my trip:  a cold, a bottle of excellent port and images of a sweet new person.  I've also picked up some choice bits of random trivia about Del Rio I thought I'd share in case you're ever in this part of the country:

• The smell of skunk is big around here. Frequently, I hear "Damn. Skunk. I smell skunk again."
• You can pay for your WalMart purchases with Mexican currency, but it really pisses off the Americans who have to wait extra time in line.
• The border fence doesn't look how I imagined it. Where we stood outside of the car for a photo under the watchful eye of a border patrol agent, it looked more like a wrought iron gate lining a fancy neighborhood. (And I'm exercising silence instead of getting all political on you.)
• You can totally get out of a ticket exactly how I imagined it. Someone who shall remain nameless didn't see the speed limit in a school zone. After getting hit with a whopper, she walked into the court office and found a man with a big cowboy hat and a cigar, told him she knew his kids, and he knocked her ticket down to less than a third of its original sting.
• When you visit a border town and you're a vegetarian, your choice is cheese. And chips. That's it. Seriously. We've totally bastardized Mexican food in other parts of the country...and I like that kind of Mexican food.
• I loved visiting here. What an incredible experience to get to know this tiny little girl. And I saw some beautiful things. But I could never live here.

Photos following tomorrow if I'm not comatosed from the trip.

My Brother's Dysfunctional Dog Raids Kitchen Can

Poor Kaley. She's been pissed since my bro's move to Del Rio and even more so since the baby has been born. No longer the sole recipient of love and affection in the family, this mixed breed wonder has taken to different forms of entertainment and attention-seeking. Wanting to see exactly how much time elapses before the garbage dump occurs after they walk out the door, a secret camera was set up. Kaley's been punked!

Texas Traveling

This part of the country is definitely different. And anything different is interesting to me. So far, we've spent time indoors with the young babe who is sweet and beautiful...and has taken up crying at times like all new little people do. We've taken a few short walks in their hood, out to a rocky trail overlooking slight hills with green-gray vegetation, the remains of half eaten skunks and unseen birds chirping in the distance.

I'm looking forward to a trip to Lake Amistad National Park when the fog clears this afternoon. In the meantime, I'm bummed I can't upload any photos to this laptop. All good things to those who wait.

I'm mentally planning an exciting roadtrip-that-may-never-be for the Spring. It involves a starting flight into San Antonio, followed by driving to Austin and a few New Mexico destinations. Love the southwest. Honestly, I love anything that involves traveling and could probably be satisfied doing it at least half the year. (...Except expensive bed and breakfasts and considerable transportation to far-away nature preserves are usually involved.)

Now let's talk air. I flew Continental for the first time and was pleasantly surprised at the difference between their service and US Air. ...Although it's not hard to top US Air on a positive reliability scale. My recent stranding experience on Thanksgiving was evidence once more that they couldn't give a doo doo where or when you're left unaccording to plan.  The nice lady beside me on one of my flights added "The most favorable thing US Air has done is that safe landing in the Hudson." (One of her recent 6 hour cross-country trips took 14 hours.)

Flight attendants are getting saucier with their comments, which I love. On the Tampa-Houston flight I heard "Please do not open the closed overhead compartments, as we may never be able to get them closed again if you do."  Have you seen this Southwest Air flight attendant? Posted it on Facebook recently and had two people tell me he was on one of their flights. I'm so jealous...

On to Brighter Things: Deep in the Heart of Texas

Tomorrow I leave for an expedition to the tiny border town of Del Rio. There I will visit my Bro, is wife and the new Little One. New life is especially exciting when it's born to a caring person/couple whose existence is rocked beyond belief that this Small Miracle is theirs for the caretaking.

Husband, D-Man and I have enjoyed some Skype action with them, but I haven't held her or burped her or done any of the baby things that are only delicious with the newness of an infant. I can't wait. She's truly the reason for my trip, but while I'm out there...

The local Audubon Goddess is providing me with some excellent field guides to the birds in that part of Texas. Despite my current position in communications, my background is environmental science, and Audubon has been part of my life for many moons. So I am psyched beyond belief about the new feathered friends I may find during my excursion to this very different terrain.

Bro purchased a tiny boat that is used for quiet water adventures in Lake Amistad, where I'm sure to enjoy duck species that we might not have here in SW Florida. Thank goodness he has the rules down pat with me: NO FREAKING SHOOTING while I'm there. I'll just avoid that conversation and the one about border patrol and we'll be just fine.

I'm awfully proud of him and his wife as loving new parents and as the human beings they are on their own. That said, maybe they'll be kind enough to let me borrow their internet connection to share some photos through Wednesday on Gropius. Note: I am banned from posting pictures of the Little One, perhaps to your delight.

Contradictions, Dumb Deals and Vomitaciousness

Today I received an e-mail from CVS with this subject line: Receive a $5 off $30 coupon for taking our Medicare Part D quiz. Now, does this mean that if I take the quiz I'll receive a $25 coupon? Not sure. But it's almost as savvy as the "take 10% off" sign by rediculously priced sweaters for sale in Florida stores. I had a vomitacious reaction when I realized that down here, sweaters, thick socks and knit hats all hit the shelves the second it hits 75 degrees.

Now, for all of you English teachers out there (yes, Mitzi, I'm referring to you), "vomitacious" is not technically a word, but you can find it in various urban dictionaries. I believe it's my new favorite non-word, and at the rate we're going, it will one day make its way to Webster's. (Someone informed me that because "irregardless" was so overly misused, it was added to the dictionary. Now THAT is vomitacious.)

So back to a few other vomitacious things today, changing the subject from clothes to life in general, I'm a little perturbed at pettiness. I'm noticing a pattern where people get far too consumed with panties in wads over tiny things while they don't take control of larger issues in their life and work. I'm not saying that I am immune to this; hell, I'm open to having it pointed out to me in my own ramblings if you feel up to it.

Bascially, I just want to know we're all doing our fair share to open up confrontations when and where they're necessary and just deal with the rest. Otherwise, we're wasting energy that's much better used on pleasantness and happy things. Are you with me on this?

Now to completely contradict this proclamation and wish, I will share that the vomitaciousness on the road has been quite scary. Today I was almost nailed head on by someone going 987 miles per hour. The person in front of me decided to stop suddenly. As I tried to go around him (after patiently waiting a few moments), he decided to reverse hastily and back into a driveway, leaving me hanging out in the other lane. And at this point, speeding driver in opposite direction had absolutely no angel callings to slow down. Pissant. Moments later, another sweet crazy person did a 3 point turn in the middle of a 4 way stop...but couldn't wait until I had passed. She actually made the 3 point turn, stopped herself at the stop sign and then went before me.

Now, aren't you glad you've listened to my petty, hypocritical vomitacious rantings? Please, share at least one vomitacious thing from your week before you leave.

Ouch

I really am a super nice person. I’m just exhausted after a long day at work. And obviously, I can count on this moment for someone I haven’t spoken to in a very long time to IM me on Facebook.  The "conversation" went kind of like this:

Long Lost Friend: Hey. How are you?

Gropius: Very busy, but everything is fine. How in the world are you?

Long Lost Friend: I’m recently engaged.

Gropius: Oh congratulations!!  Tell me about him. It’s a him, right? Hahaha.

Long Lost Friend: HE lives in Sarasota and I’m moving closer. Will be working for the March of Dimes.

Gropius: That’s wonderful! Maybe you can get them to stop animal testing. Where are you living now?

Long Lost Friend: I live in Tampa.

Gropius: Still in your townhouse?

Long Lost Friend: Yes, but I’ll be selling it.

Gropius: Good luck in this market.

Long Lost Friend: I have to go now and do some work.


Oh. So now I get it. Being tired can transform a person into one you sincerely regret ever selecting with the instant message icon. Unfortunately, I was that person.  And I never want to be that person. Somewhere in the Universe I will be forgiven, and we can all love each other again. ...As long as this blog post isn't discovered by one Ms.-Soon-To-Be-Mrs. Long Lost Friend.

My favorite psychological experiments

I stumbled upon an interesting link today on Twitter: a blog posting about how other people's expectations control us.  I was a little disappointed in what I found (nothing completely new there), but it did lead me to a more intriguing post describing 10 weird psychological studies. "Vote for your favorite!"  Hmmm...  Although I don't have a lot of extra time for something like this, it's degree of strangeness-in-the-ordinary is, shall we say, soooo Gropius.

There are plenty of "psychological" mini-experiments I've conducted over the ages with good friends and family (trusted parties who know that deep down, I'm not really a freak). Most of them amount to having a strange sense of humor and enjoying playfulness at strange times. In my professional life, it's been particularly interesting to observe repeating non-scientific psychological phenomenon, like:

• How easy it is for one freaking person in a bad mood to upset everyone, yet it's much harder to turn a sour group of people into a good spirited one. What the hell is that all about?
• Silence. It's the easiest way to make someone uncomfortable. Isn't that crazy--how hard it is for us to accept a period of no talking. I wish we could get used to less chatter. There would be more room for reasonable, well formed thought.
• The mental herd. If someone is proclaimed by enough people (or the right person) to be the most talented gift to this green earth, everyone sees his/her brilliance. Yet the moment that person falls from graces--again with the larger crowd or with the right person proclaiming it first--his/her worthiness diminishes into a bottomless hole with the larger herd. I've seen it happen regularly in the charitable social scene.

What nuggets of good citizen science psychology will you share? Say that three times fast.

By the way, when it comes to how other people's expectations control us, I'm much more likely to focus on being the opposite of someone's expectations if those expectations are mediocre or bad. Are you the same? That little Gropius rebel in all of us...

Do I have to come back?

Cedar Key was maaarvelous. If you're not from these typically tropical parts of the US, you can ID its location by picturing it hanging out in the Gulf of Mexico just south of the western bend in Florida. ...Just far enough to make you feel like you're nowhere close to the reality of life.

Yes, it was colder than a well digger's ass, but the rain shuffled off after 10 am and yielded a blue sky we welcomed like the last piece of Elvis Bites on earth. 

New paintings, pottery and potbellies from margaritas were the take home prizes. Throughout the weekend of eating (and eating and eating), we also chewed on well-endowed discussions and scenic stories, driving around with six of us happily packed in one vehicle. It was fun to be crammed in the back. With good company, anything is fun.

At the top of the edible highlights list were Elvis Bites (fried bananas with peanut butter ice cream) and fried green beans at Tony's.  For all of you strange vehicular obsessives, here's a good find, all decked out for Christmas. Bonus: it's for sale.

I bought a killer painting of thunderclouds that Husband hates (Gropius predicted!!), but we both agree that this special find takes the cake. It's a mosaic shelf for the...ah, not sure which room...but now that it's securely home, I can figure that out later, right?

Check out my Flickr feed on the right for the full scoop of nature photos, group shots and other fun stuff.  The real darling of the weekend was discovering the ladies I thought were talented, kind and funny are actually talented, kind and funny, even when spending every waking moment of 2 days together.  It was a trip. And there were plenty of wedgies for everyone.

Sadly, it's always true--just when you get in the ultimate relaxation mode, there's a day called Monday that threatens to bring you back to life-as-you-know-it.

Hell or High Water (Maybe Both?): Cedar Key is Still On

In southwest Florida this time of year, one can rely on clear skies with highs in the upper seventies--a combination that produces the best of outdoor adventures. Of course, that's what I was banking on 4 months ago when I planned a girls' weekend in Cedar Key for December 5-6.  And here we are the day before--all eight of us who agreed to spend the weekend on this mystery trek--looking at a weather map that tells us a high of 58 degrees with a 70 percent chance of rain is our destiny there tomorrow.

You see, Cedar Key is an isolated little place off the western bend in Florida. It's cloaked with quaint marshes with tall grasses and old wooden boat houses, a few short streets lined with artsy gift shops hosting art and trinkets, and a fantastic boat tour (well usually). This leaves me certain of one thing: I have no idea what you do there when it's cold and raining.

Sex, alcohol and sleep are the obvious choices. One of those is out for sure, since it's all ladies and no Husband.  The second of those I may partake in, but I've never been much of a drinker.  Give me a glass and a half of wine, and I'm either even crazier than I am under normal conditions, or I'm out like a light.

What will we do given the circumstances? Not sure, but you will surely read all about it on Sunday night. Wish us happy adventures. After all, it's the company that counts. And we have some great people along for the ride.

Today was like a three legged dog.

As I shoved my tired buns into the driver's seat this evening to go home, noticing the windshield resembling a bird shite bombing range, all was right with the world. The one name wonder "Toby," an IT guy with ReadyTalk who came to my rescue yesterday while doing a trial run of a webinar, still lingered in my brain with gratitude. I didn't accomplish all that I needed to today, but did accomplish far more than I thought I could, given the plethora of tasks.

Here's the living metaphor for my day: a 3 legged dog I discovered on Facebook.

Gropius (on Facebook):  ????? is this your new dog?

Gropius' cousin's wife:   I hope so. He is someone else's dog but hangs out at our house a lot.

Alrighty then. If you have three legs, just one shot shy of perfection, this is as good as it gets. And it's damn good.

Gropius Nonprofit Giveaway Results...Mothers Helping Mothers

And the winning comment--chosen by the Random Number Generator, my dears--is comment number 9: Mothers Helping Mothers.   This grassroots nonprofit organization offers baby items, cleaning supplies/personal hygiene products, crisis assistance, clothing from infants through teen sizes including maternity clothes, and shoes. And let me tell you, readers, there is so much need for this right now.

Thanks to Uncommon Blonde for submitting the winning comment, and thanks to you for caring enough to leave your own note about a nonprofit or cause that's dear to your heart. I've checked out the websites and suggestions you left and have loved visiting such diverse areas of charitable passions...all over the world!

If you're looking for some unusual gift ideas that really help your goodness shine, consider these two:

• Network for Good's "Good Card."  Here's how it works: you purchase a Good Card for any amount and your recipient can use it as a donation to the nonprofit(s) of their choice. VERY cool.
  
  
• Alternative Gifts International. Give a gift in honor of someone that changes a life around the world. Choose from humanitarian, environmental, health/ nutrition, women's issues projects, etc.
  

They'll both take good care of you with an e-card or a mailed card to your recipient.

A Small Donation to the Nonprofit of Your Choice

What a long, strange trip it's been with NaBloPoMo. Honestly, I am so sick of my blog after posting every single solitary day for a month, I probably will not look at it again. Ever. Well maybe not ever. I'm sure I'll be back sooner than you'd like.

Anywho, to end November with a tiny spark, not a bang, I am giving the meager sum of $25 to the nonprofit of your choice---IF you leave a comment and IF the random number generator selects your comment.  It's so freaking easy it's not even funny.  Leave a comment with the name of the nonprofit you choose, along with their website. If you want, tell me why it means something to you.

Thanks, readers. It's been fun.

One Totally EASY Thing You Can Do to Reduce Waste

Today I felt like I did a lot around the house but accomplished little, except making a mess. Husband is less than pleased with the way I strung the lights on our back porch.  I'm sure the dog poop in the backyard won't mind the drooping pattern.  (Hardly a dog poop joke, J. Bern, but still I'm keeping your fascination in mind.) 

Husband put up new blinds, I broke a few ornaments and together, we found that more than enough outdoor lights just don't work anymore. So I'm obsessed with where all of the old and/or broken stuff goes. I'm feeling more and more guilty whenever I throw something away, because I can picture it (multiplied by the same disposables from every American) laying in a miserable landfill somewhere.

I received a short rainbow of light from Sarasota Audubon Society today when they posted a great blog on how to eliminate your phone book mailings. (If you're reading a blog and you don't use the Internet to find phone numbers, it could be time for a serious change for you.)  Here's what I swiped from their blog:

With the internet & electronic phone books, you may want to “opt out” of receiving a phone book on your front porch. In the USA alone the 540 million directories represent: 19 million trees for paper; 1.6 billion pounds of paper waste; 7.2 million barrels of oil (not including delivery); 268,000 cubic yards of landfill; 3.2 billion kilowatt hours of electricity consumption.

It’s not always easy to opt out and you may have to verify your request annually with each directory provider since these companies collect advertising dollars for every book they give away. Here are a few resources:

• Verizon (800) 888-8448 (press 2)
• Yellowbook (800) 929-3556 (press 3)
• The Real Yellow Pages (866) 326-7200 (press 0) (or just click here)

It only takes a few minutes and feels pretty good. Plus, no more huge and skanky phone books taking up space on your shelves.

Holiday Shopping: The Fright, The Flight & The Glory

Don't get me wrong--I love, absolutely LOVE, buying gifts for people. But something about holiday shopping fills me with fear. It's the fear that I'm not picking out something spontaneously exceptional but something that will just work for the obligation.

I hate that and then find myself standing in line wondering, "What in the name of Sweet Pete am I doing here with this mediocre selection?"  I totally want to run.


But every now and then, a great find at the right price with the right inspiration appears before me like a revelation. Don't laugh, but honestly the best thing I've discovered this season is a stocking stuffer sort of prize for my three year old nephew. Yes, it's the Grow a Frog. How can you go wrong with this?  Hell, I want one. 

If only they would make a Grow a Conscience for the not so evolved people we must deal with on a daily basis. Maybe next year...

Pipe Dreams

If you were lucky enough to know your grandfather, how do you remember him? Is there a single image that forms that frame of eternity for every recall?  I love to picture Robert Wallace Howard in his recliner, argyle socks showing above his loafers with a pipe in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other. After a few puffs, he'd hum or sigh boldly with satisfaction and get ready for a line of questions or a few words of wisdom.

Before I left today, I selected the most unusual pipes from his notorious collection. We now have them displayed on a wooden shelf that also hosts a drawing of an old tobacco barn--the very definition of old eastern North Carolina.

Here are a few of my faves:

You have to love an old man who can sit back with his pipe and reflect on a lifetime of adventures with the satisfaction of knowing he did everything he wanted to do.  Yes?

Since Yesterday...And Thank You, Morons at US Airways

I know it's not nice to say mean things, especially on Thanksgiving. But here it is: I'm stranded in Greenville, NC since US Airways cancelled my connecting flight to Charlotte. I can't hold them accountable for fog, but I can hold them accountable for employing morons who can't figure out how to deal with it later. Sometimes, people, you just have to get creative. That does not include solving the problem by shipping me home tomorrow.  AND, it wouldn't be the first time US Air left me stranded on the Thanksgiving holiday. So I'm thinking, "Jesus, Gropius, don't you ever learn?"

Since yesterday, the fam's bitchy and neurotic Springer Spaniel bit me, I spent plenty of time hiding in the back bedroom from visitors I didn't know, and I learned that it's possible to gain 5 pounds in 24 hours. There's a lot of junk food around here: cheese straws, lemon pound cake, and pecans cooked in an entire stick of butter (yes, my idea). 

On a more positive note, we've been digging up some amazing pictures--pictures that make me wonder how any of us were ever that young and good looking. ...Or ever consented to certain hairstyles. Digital cameras have not been good for the kind of albums you like to thumb through on the couch, triggering the recesses of memories that were put on the back burner for a while. It's really special to get connected with honest to God pictures you can hold in your hand. 

I'm sure that's what US Air had in mind when they did me the favor of screwing up again.

Enjoy your holiday! And know I'm thankful for readers, even when you don't leave a comment. :)

Final Arrangements

So I'm in Greenville, North Carolina in the heart of the Bible Belt on a dial up AOL connection blogging for my NaBloPoMo obligations. I'm with the fam after grandfather died. He didn't want a service, but wanted a few friends to stop by for a champagne toast. Since he was 94, ready to go, lived an awesome life, did everything he wanted to do, it's okay to diverge from all seriousness and share a few interesting things with you...

Like the house visitor who was going to name her baby Palin after Sarah. She settled for Kaylin.  (During her visit, she told us about someone "throwin' a hot pot 'o food at me"--right before she pulled her pants down to expose a new tatoo.) Like the thermostat here with the note to the caregivers reading "If you touch this without permission you will lose your job." Like the 2 hours we spent at the funeral home correcting unnecessary commas in the obituary. (Apparently, they were still using a typewriter and re-typing it with each of the five versions.) Like learning there are two price levels for boxes they put your loved one in before being cremated. My mother asked if the second was a "luxury model of the first cardboard box."

It's been a while since I lived in NC, so during my visits here, I'm pretty focused on the trip a Southern accent can take with the English language. Adding a few syllables to every word (fu-ne-ral becomes a-fu-yew-nuh-ru-yall) is par for the course. The word "father" doesn't really exist. People express their condolences to my mother with "I am so sorry to hear about your daddy" (pronouced dee-ya-dee).

To be continued....

Happy Thanksgiving, ya'll

Taking me right to the limit with teenage interpretations!

Gropius: “Please come in here and get your clothes out of the dryer.” “…Today.”
Teenager Translation: Begin dribbling basketball loudly, inside your room, especially since you’ve been asked 10 billion times not to do it.


Gropius: “I know what you’re saying can’t be right. Tell me the truth before I have to call your teacher.”

Teenager Translation: If you can pull this lie off for another 48 hours, you can at least enjoy the weekend before you get busted on Monday.



Gropius: “I would like you to read now like you’re supposed to be doing.”

Teenager Translation: Emerge from room for the first time in, oh let’s see, 5 minutes. Get a drink and a snack AGAIN, then hang around to ask parents questions about the show they’re watching.



Gropius: “We’ve been doing something together all day. I need some space, you need some space. Please find something quiet to do by yourself.”

Teenager Translation: Bother the dog. Begin talking in an exaggerated poochie-mouthed nausea fest, making her wonder if she’s getting a treat, going for a walk or just plain having her hopes worked up for no reason.

A Toast to My Grandfather

Imagine the most insanely electric variations of orange, blue, green and red adorning the walls like they were pulled right out of a Crayola box on fire. Add extra large mirrors with golden scrolled frames, supersized stretched canvas paintings and light fixtures dripping like a Quinceanera.

When the louder than life Frank Sinatra momentarily stops blaring, you can hear the sound of your feet on bits of hard wood with every other step muted on worn oriental rugs.

In the winter, you wouldn’t believe the basking indoor temperatures.

Plaques from the Rotary, black and white photos of old Southern fundraising events and the WWII days, and statuettes of Buddha and trinkets of unknown origin line nooks on the desk, wet bar and mantles.
The smell? Pipe tobacco. On a good day, cigars.

I know, it sounds like an obnoxious combination. But it’s my grandfather’s house, and if you could see it, you would swear an interior designer had something to do with it.

The markings of a distinguished 94 year old gentleman pervade every swig of Baileys and coffee, every well earned hum and every gaze at the still chess set in the corner. It’s time. A life lived to the fullest, rounding the corners to the home stretch. Rest. At last.

What's Fun About Breast Cancer Awareness? Check Out the Pink Glove Dance

This incredible effort by the Providence St. Vincent Medical Center in Portland, Oregon deserves a Gold Star for time, energy and yes, dancing. They may not have the boldest and most coordinated moves in the universe, but hey, they brought down the house with their pink gloves.



Didn't you especially love the cafeteria and janitorial staff? Good stuff for a good cause. Let's applaud them by sharing it with others and doing what you need to do to protect those tatas.  Supposedly, when the video gets 1 million hits, Medline will be making a huge contribution to the hospital, as well as offering free mammograms for the community.

Reader Poll: This Is What Annoys You

And, drumroll please...here are your annoying Facebook responses--annoying as in this is what irks you.

• Watching folks who litter look on as their garbage hits the ground. I wonder what they're thinking as they watch themselves be lazy and selfish. "I'm so proud I lack compassion and respect."
  
• A message I just got from match.com: "just wanted to say hi! working half a day then off to the beach! if i see a naked girl on the beach i'll just assume it you! ;) lol have a great day!... ...steve"
  
• The little box that pops up and asks you if you mind leaving a secure setting. If you say NO, you can't move forward. You have to say yes. Why ask? And what setting is really secure anyway?
  
• I hate the SEND ERROR REPORT!! Where does it go anyway?
  
• When co-workers think that the newspaper a department subscribes to is fair game for themselves. Especially when someone takes it to the restroom and then has the nerve to return it!
  
• National Geographic channel now being self-referred to as “NatGeo.” That’s stupid. I took me forever to figure out what that meant. Wait…am I stupid?
  
• Being told you will get a raise and a new position if you do a bunch of extra work. You do it for a year and are then told that the conversation never took place. By the way, “Keep up the great work!” Wait…that’s not just annoying—it’s unethical! Time to look for a new job!
  
• When you try to help your child do math, but the schools no longer teach it the way that you learned, to your kid AND you end up confused...grrrrrr!
  
• The same people who tailgate you when they are going 70 mph leave two car lengths when they come to a stop so you can’t make the left turn lane when the light is green.
  
• People who are supposed to know something about what they’re in charge of but seem to know nothing about it and ask you questions as though they never heard of it at all and can't imagine what it's all about. Don't get me started!

And there you have it. Feel free to add yours to the list.

Girls & Beauty: Let's Teach Them the Truth

Maybe you never saw this. Or maybe you did but it's been a few years.



After taking a tour at Girls, Inc. on Wednesday, I see the need to keep educating our girls on the necessity of being strong, smart and bold. It seems as essential as vitamins and minerals. 

It's amazing that a girl can grow up empowered by her inner beauty with all of the messages she continues to see in advertisements, on television, in magazines and from her peers. 

As a step-parent of an energetic teenage boy, I'm ever aware of his perceptions of female beauty, hoping he will one day choose a mate who is attractive to him because of her unique perspective on the world, not her botox or her breasts. 

Let's keep strong as a united front, loving all of our female friends, of all heights, all weights, shapes, hair colors, pimply and flawless skin.  I love what Girls Inc is doing across the country. Let's all be mini-messengers.

Creative Job Hunting

It's no news that jobs are scarce these days. And although some employers are still hiring, for every job out there, it seems that thousands apply. Experienced professionals are forced to go for entry level positions, and even those are difficult to land. Hmm...looks like I picked the right time to have graduated from college 10 years ago. Can't even imagine what new graduates folks feel like.

An interesting job hunting tactic was displayed at an event I attended today.

An unemployed marketing professional had purchased an event sponsorship, and at her display table, she kept a stack of resumes, a professional sign announcing her candidacy for open positions and a night for two at the Ritz Carlton available to the person who made the introduction to her next employer. At each place setting, she had a bag of roasted peanuts in the shells with a note "In a nutshell, I'm looking for a job."  The hand written note also said "To do: Call ___ at (XXX-XXX) to talk about employment." 

Pretty creative, you've got to admit.

[Afterthought: It's been pretty tough lobbying for date nights. Married women REALLY need them. (Yes, PLRH, it's true.) I am totally going to steal this idea for home. I'll just post some resumes about my qualifications as a date and leave a bag of peanuts (though yes, they'll have to be boiled for husband) with a note declaring "In a nutshell, I'm just looking for a freaking date night with you, Husband."    Think that'll work?]

Gropius Meets Sidewalk

It's been nearly a year since the Big Spill.

And this morning, an even greater near-tragedy transpired on a 5:45 a.m. walk with sweet, loving, adorable, once-homeless-and-living-on-the-streets Flanders, who apparently had to suddently stop and pee for the 321st time.  As one could imagine, I tripped over her. Majorly tripped. As in I busted my ass.

It's not like my life flashed in front of me or anything, but during the long and fumbling trip to the sidewalk, I did see things in slow motion like a horrible reinactment from a murder documentary. The impact left both knees severly skinned. I'll spare you the pictures, but it will suffice to say that I almost made someone in the office puke today when I revealed them.

After sitting there for a moment and collecting myself (during which time Flanders accomplished her desired urinary mission), I got up to walk the mile home. A block from the house, I realized my keys were still on the sidewalk...way back there. Fun.  Banging on the door several times eventually yielded a sleepy husband who let me inside and who promptly went back to bed.

Nice start to a new day. But I'm not complaining.

Does ANNOYING music affect your concentration?

This year for the famously annoying task of completing a science project, D-Man is asking the question "Does music affect concentration?"  He's having a series of people--including me and husband of course--see how many words we can find in a word search as we listen for 5 minutes each to classical music, rap and finally no music.

I completed the experiment yesterday and found that music actually helped my concentration, but people, let's examine the choices. The rap was the Beastie Boys and the classical was Debussy--both of which are more than humane choices. I like them.

I totally think the experiment should be changed to "Does annoying music affect your concentration?" We would then be asked to complete word searches while listening to:

• The song that begins with "Heard it from a friend, who heard it from a friii-iiieeeeeend who, heard it from another you've been messing around..." 
• Most of the 11 songs played in a heinous endless loop by ClearChannel stations last year--last month--last week--today--and into infinity.
• Hall & Oats "Private Eyes"  (see below)
• At the risk of offending many, anything by Whitney Houston in the last 10 years, most Journey songs, and most of those (new, not classic) pesky Disney movie songs. I don't know many, but the ones I do know are more than annoying.
• Hotel California. I mean it's a great song, and the Eagles--such talent. But really, it's had its day in court. It's over. I can't take it any more!!!!

Anything else to add to that list of annoying music to add to the experiment?  Young D-Man has a lot of work to do.

Check out this post on Popten: Top Ten Catchiest, Most Annoying Songs (That Burrow Into Your Brains and Make You Want to Die.)

I Wish I Had's are No Good

So way back in another life it seems, I met a beautiful soul named Ken, who was one of my volunteers at a nature center where I worked. (Doesn’t he look like Walter Matthau?)
He and his lovely wife Mary have been like part of our family. In retirement, they were full time RVers, traveling about, spreading goodness like little seeds wherever they landed for a few weeks or months.

They’ve given up the wandering and now have a home in Minnesota. Good grief, I miss their winter visits to Florida. Here’s a bit of wisdom Ken recently shared with me in an e-mail. Thought I’d pass it on:


“So are you learning to take it a bit easy on the work and volunteering, to carve out a little more time for doing relaxing fun things with self, friends, and family? I hope so. Life goes by so quickly that if you don't create some fun/pleasant personal memories along the way you'll be my age before you know it with a whole bag of "I wish I had"s. I know people like that and they make me glad that I screwed off along the way, even if I didn't achieve my full career potential (boring).”


First Thought: Ken developed devices that made pace makers possible. And he did the first electrocardiogram on a wild whale. Didn’t achieve his full career potential? Oh man. One could only imagine what that would have looked like.

Second thought: Back to the point. “I wish I had’s” are no good. This needs to be my daily mantra. Thanks to Ken and to all those I come across in life who bring me back to the point.

Private Eyes Are Watching You...Watching Your Every Move...

Yesterday I had the pleasure of volunteering with Art Center Sarasota for its Private Eyes tour—a tour of lovely homes in town with fabulous private art collections.

As a result, the 1981 Hall & Oats song “Private Eyes” has been permanently marked in my conscious mind. I know about 10 words to the song, which I’m trying desperately to forget, but continue to mentally repeat them in a hellish rolling record nonetheless. I am ready to be Baker acted.

The volunteering gig was enjoyable. I am left with a great respect for all of those who opened up their homes to the sea of strangers who arrived with (and without) manners, looking at their stuff, commenting good things (and bad) about their most prized possessions, and shedding DNA calling cards on their floors, rugs, walls and windows. In general, people were on very good behavior and I would surely call the event a grand success.

However, it was one of those days I thank heavens for my little 7 room house in Bradentucky, with no worries of being called on for tour duty.

By the way, misery loves company:

Are you SERIOUS, Hammacher Schlemmer?

So we just got their holiday catalogue today. Thought I’d share some strange finds with you, just in case you’re stumped seeking a holiday gift for that special canine.

First, the barking deterrent disguised as a bird house…because most dogs are so smart that if the high frequency-emitting device came in a “regular” container, it totally wouldn’t work. They’d be on to it in seconds. They’ll never figure out the birdhouse.

Second, here is a gift for people who (a) are lazy and (b) have no freaking clue that dogs love to fetch because people who talk like happy babies are at the other end of that stick. (Well, except maybe the legendary yellow lab of my youth, Jerome, who sometimes needed some “alone time” to process all of his deep thoughts.) It’s the Automatic Canine Fetch Machine. Isn’t that sweet? This gift allows you to completely ignore your best friend.

It should come with a t-shirt for your dog too: “I defend this house and all I get is this automatic fetching machine.”

And finally, the Canine Treadmill. For people who are just too freaking lazy to walk their dogs. I can't even bring myself to post the photo here. Might get the blog shut down by PETA.

Redheads Will One Day Rule the World

Here’s a Gropius family car conversation from a couple weekends ago:

• D-Man: “Did you know there are only 2 million redheads in the entire world? They’re disappearing.”
  
• Husband: “I heard that one day redheads will be bred out of the human species.”
  
• Gropius [in head]: “Nice. Trying to get rid of me the old fashioned way: genetically. And P.S., this whole conversation is just a little scary for more than one reason.”
  

So I did a little follow up online and can report through secret Internet sources that there are more like 65 million of us globally, with the largest redhead percentage in the populations of Scotland, Ireland and Wales, respectively. Hm. What a surprise.

And bad news, fam, redheads will not die out unless we simply stop breeding with people who carry that recessive trait. I did find some interesting thought processes going on in blogs and forums re: the “Will redheads die out” question—no doubt one of the most stirring dialogues of our time. Some of them include:

“Ginger kids scare me.” Reply: As they should. We’ll get you. And one day, we’ll take over.

“Does God hate me because I’m a redhead?” Answer: Look, I’d love to answer, but I’ll defer to the Redhead Upstairs.

“Redhead girls are the hottest…after Asian girls” Answer: SECOND hottest? Must be a blonde talking.

BTW, I'll dedicate this post to you, PLRH, one of my fellow redheads. Congrats on your blog award!!!!

The Haircut

When I came home on Tuesday night after getting my hair hacked off a good 10 inches, this was the response I received:

Husband: "Oh. I like it. I like it. Yeah, I like it." (trying to convince himself) and then..."It's like I get to sleep with a different woman tonight!"

D-man: "You look like Willie Wonka."

Needless to say, I felt so reassured after these lovely interactions.

On Veteran's Day, Don't Change the Channel

The day I found out my college graduate brother from our non-military family signed up with the Marines, my perspective started to change. The Iraq war had begun. Things were bad. I knew that for every bit of fear I held about it, my mother held more fear as only a mother could.

The next few years would be difficult, as we all grasped to visualize what he was seeing, hearing, doing. Communication was often extremely scattered, short and uninforming. When the reports came in on radio and television, it was a struggle to stay positive and keep from wondering if he was there when "it" happened--whatever that "it" was.

And you hear it almost every day still. You know the voices on NPR and ABC. And you can predict the arrangement of words in the announcements. "Today in Anbar Province, three more troops were killed in combat."

What happens when you hear that? Do you physically or mentally change the channel? True, it's hard to internalize after years of this. And anyway, what can you do about it? But I ask you not to blur it out. We don't see their faces. But we know they're men and women--many of them very young--with the best of intentions. And they're gone. In a strange place with giant camel spiders, heat that you would not believe and loved ones connected to them with faded pictures in their pockets, they're gone.

Years later, after my brother has served twice in Iraq and is now working elsewhere under the Department of Homeland Security, I realize that I can't blur the armed services and any associated combat into an amorphous mass of "why?" It's no longer easy to pass off as something with which I can't identify or understand.

Despite your politics, the bottom line is that for every veteran that returns, he or she has experienced things you can't imagine. Many of them are positive, like rebuilding schools or sewer systems. But most likely, there are also people he left behind with uncertain dates of return, people who he knew who died in an irretrievable instant, and people he knew who will return with one less limb or with an unseen but severe emotional wound that impacts daily life in perpetuity.

My request is simple: just carve out a few moments in your heart today and everyday to remember those who have come home to us and those who haven't.

The Nonquestioner

The nonquestioner (n). A person who attends a seminar or presentation and stands up to ask a question, only it is not a question. It is a rambling statement that goes on and on and has no apparent end or interest to anyone in the audience but the same annoying, rude person talking.


So yesterday I attended an event at USF about deforestation in the Amazon. At the end of three presentations, it was time for questions. That’s right, QUESTIONS. Of course a nonquestioner had to be part of the line up. Usually, a nonquestioner can fall into one of 3 subcategories:

1. Secretly resents not being asked to be part of the presentation and decides to fulfill that role during the nonquestion.
2. Wants to impress the presenters/audience with some obscure fact that might not even be a fact.
3. Overtly transforms the nonquestion into a heated preaching moment to a choir that is already converted. (As in “And the rainforest is disappearing! And damn it, we need to do something about it!”)

As you might have guessed, this nonquestioner was all three and was annoying as hell. Even better, the moderator tried to boot him on 2 separate occasions by politely asking him to get to the question. She finally succeeded on the third, more forceful try. What was the question? Obviously, there wasn’t one.

Inspiration from the Lower Food Chain

Knowing that even the lowest organisms on the food chain possess beauty, I am inspired to keep searching for it in the people who toy with my ability to keep profanity from morphing into an outer dialogue.

(lichen growing on cypress tree)


(another type of lichen growning on fence post)

Don't Pimp My Ride

We do have a real live tween in the house, far more--challenging--shall we say, than a young white ibis. Sometimes there's a fine line between arguing over something of principle and arguing over something of preference. Wearing non-wrinkled shirts that don't create the appearance you slept under a bridge, brushing your hair for the same reason and avoiding certain non-words like "oma! oma!oma!" before every sentence are just some of those parental preferences. But the scuffs over different tastes in cars is hovering on the edge.

He's fixated with souped up cars. I'm talking the cheap hooptie mobiles with the iridescent paint jobs and $30, 000 rims. To wind up our 4 hours in the car today, driving to and from Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary, this conversation took place. And it's not one that's new.

• Tween: "Oma! Dude, that car is JACKED UP. Look at those RIMS."
• Husband: "When you're spending more on the rims than the car itself, you know it's not a wise choice."
• Tween: "No man, that's called being green. They're taking something really old and reusing it."
• Husband: "No, that's called being stupid."

There, there. It would seem that the tween has a point. Not that I see four expensive rims held together by crap and an engine that's ten days older than water as a Sweet 16 present or anything, but I'm happy to hear the word "green." Something I'm saying is getting through.

Bird Teenagers

Bird teenagers. You've got to love them. They talk back, are disrespectful and think they know everything. I'm not even sure they appreciate everything you do for them.

This immature White Ibis is in the prime of its life and in fine form. Soon all of the brown feathers will turn to white, and he will officially be a man. He looks like a Ricky. Totally a Ricky. And so cooperative Ricky was in allowing me to take a few glamour shots at Robinson Preserve this morning. One day, he will look back on this day and understand what I tried to do for him.